


A glass over the flame

by noisette



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bottom Derek, Kink Negotiation, M/M, top Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisette/pseuds/noisette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've wanted to tie you up since you first kissed me in the car," Reid admits bluntly. He can recall the exact moment when the thought flashed through his mind. (Or how Reid told the team he's into BDSM and Derek took note.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A glass over the flame

**Author's Note:**

> Mild painplay, D/s undertones, spanking, bondage, mention of erotic asphyxiation.

It comes up during a case, which is both welcome and not. Hotch and Emily take it in stride. Rossi does a double-take. Mercifully, with an unsub on the loose and six victims awaiting justice, no one cares to spend time analyzing Reid's sex life. Their discretion leaves Reid with a sociopath's tangled psychology to unravel, a running countdown and -- Morgan, knocking on his door the night after they've closed the case. He looks like death warmed over, stubble dark on his chiseled jaw and stiffness in his shoulders. 

"I was hoping we could do this by email," Reid says in lieu of _hi, what are you doing on my doorstep?_

"You don't like email."

That's a fair point. Reid mulls it over. "Carrier pigeon?"

Derek sighs. "Can I just come inside?" The answer is no, but it would be unkind to spell it out for Derek when the bags around his eyes make it look like he's been in a bar fight. 

Reid opens his door a little wider, trying to clamp down on the sliver of panic that thrums needlessly in his chest. "I can start," he ventures. "What we had was great, but it wasn't a relationship, so no hard feelings, we'll head back to Virginia and keep on working together like nothing's changed -- unless you want me to transfer, which I won't, because Gideon always said I was good at my job, that I can make a difference --"

" _Kid_." Derek seldom raises his voice to him unless they're out in the field and Reid's mind is going a hundred miles an hour, leaving everyone else behind. If it's the case now, Reid can't imagine what he said that bears further scrutiny.

"... sorry." 

There's about six feet of space between them, wall on one side, bed on the other, and the flickering TV lends a sad, dreary glow to the whole affair. Derek's face is all shadow and confusion. "The hell are you talking about?"

Isn't it obvious? Reid arches his brows. "You're here to tell me this isn't going to work out." 

"You get mind reading powers when I wasn't looking?"

"I read people for a living," Reid starts to say, but his mouth clamps shut when he realizes the landmine he's almost stepped on. "I'm not profiling you." It's worth reassuring Derek, though how much the other man believes him remains to be seen. 

"Don't stop here," Derek encourages. "This is getting better and better." Strong, beefy biceps fold across his chest. 

Somehow between landing in Vegas and solving this case, Reid's managed to put his foot in it. "I'm sorry." No, that's not right either. The expression on Derek's face gives little away, but Reid has had years to master piecing together what people expect of him from the smallest sliver of human emotion. It's how he copes. "I understand you're..." _put off, scared, uncomfortable,_ "shocked. I didn't mean to bring it up like that. In front of the team." It was relevant information for the case, so discomfort however keenly felt had to be set aside. In retrospect, perhaps he could've been more delicate with the topic.

Derek can't do the charitable thing and leave it there. "Why didn't you bring it up with me?" There it is: anger. The second stage of grief. Give Derek the night and he'll be on acceptance by the time they fly back to Quantico in the morning.

"Given your sexual history, I thought you wouldn't be amenable to any fetish that involved an alteration of our current power dynamic. Evidently," Reid adds, "I was right." The TV is starting to get on his nerves, news anchors blathering on and on, scraping the barrel of common decency in their thirst for viewership. Reid shuts it off. A bad idea, because now the room is plunged into silence so tenuous it feels like they're holding their breath for something to happen. 

"You should go," Reid hears himself say. "The longer we pontificate, the harder it will be to--" He makes the mistake of glancing over, expecting to see a flinty glare turned his way, only to discover Derek wrenching off his sweatshirt. "What are you doing?" Derek's hands start on his belt. " _Stop._ "

Derek does, eyes flashing. "You think I can't take it. I look weak to you or something? I don't need you making my choices for me."

That's a fair point, thinks that small, distant part of Reid that usually stays rational for these kinds of meltdowns. The rest of him is starting to shake with ill-repressed ire. "You're not," he grits out, "thinking straight." Because this isn't a matter of proving oneself, or even a prerequisite to whatever it was they had before. No point in dwelling; their short-lived relationship ends here, tonight. It dies in the shards of Derek's laughter.

"I'm not scared of you, kid."

Reid strides forward, whole body going taut and his eyes narrowing. "First, you don't get to call me that when we're together. It's your way of putting me down, telling me I need someone to look out for me." It's true and not true, but for purposes of the argument, he'll use whatever ammunition he has on hand. "You're not my big brother, Derek, or my father or my mentor." 

It's impossible to miss the way Derek flinches, but Reid presses on regardless. "Second, you're not coercing me into doing anything with you, let alone _to you_ that I don't think you're ready for."

"Spencer--" Derek sounds wrecked, but his anger is a powder keg waiting for a spark. In different circumstances, Reid would take this as encouragement. Saying no to him isn't easy; it's vital. 

"Put your clothes back on," he advises instead. There's a moment when it looks like Derek might dig his heels in, but shame wins out in the end. Derek tugs his shirt back on, eyes averted. He brushes past Reid on the way out. One more step and the door will close, he'll be just a guy Reid almost had a thing with, the cautionary tale he'll avoid thinking about when he's working his cock in the shower. "Tomorrow night," Reid hears himself say, "if you're still interested... come by my apartment. Don't drink any alcohol beforehand and tell someone where you've gone."

Derek's brows knit, confusion flashing across his face. "You want me to tell people we're seeing each other?"

Is that what they're doing? Reid powers on past the small flicker of hope kindling in his chest: "No, I want you to tell someone you'll be at my place tomorrow night. If you do come, that is. I'd suggest JJ." She's the only one on the team who won't bat an eyelid, who already knows what Reid does. 

Reid turns his back before the door closes. The last thing he wants is to see Derek connect the dots.

***

They don't talk on the way back. Reid feigns sleep on the jet and Derek takes a seat beside Emily. Their voices are muffled, indistinct. Reid thinks they might be talking about Slaughterhouse Five or the genius thereof, but he can't be sure. He prepares his debrief for the duration of the flight, then types it up quickly once he gets to the office: anything to avoid catching Derek's eye, or lingering where he might be tempted to reassure him that last night wasn't a big deal. That they can pretend it didn't happen.

It did and they can't. The memory of Derek standing by the bed, daring Reid to master him is engraved on his retinas. He could barely sleep last night for the thought of pushing him down to the sheets and having his way. 

He's glad he didn't. It would've been a mistake. 

The jury's still out on whether doing it at all will leave them broken-hearted -- and possibly missing a few teeth, because Derek's not exactly helpless and if things should go south he'll retaliate whichever way he can. 

"You're done already?" Emily's voice startles him as he's stepping out of Hotch's office. 

Reid flashes her a tense smile. "Yeah, I'm thinking of heading home early." It's not a lie. It's just that he's not planning to stop by the library on his way there. "Did you need anything?"

"Your brain," Emily deadpans, "but I understand they haven't perfected the transplant method yet." She saunters off, turning after a couple of paces to add: "You know, if you've got a date, you can just say so. No one will think any less of you." She doesn't have to say it, but Reid knows she means his out-of-the-blue confession. 

Derek glances his way as Reid zigzags through the bullpen, but there's none of their usual banter. Reid doesn't return the stare; he said tonight and he won't go back on his word. 

Whether the team thinks any less of him for it or not, the fact is that now they know. Hotch won't report it -- sexual proclivities don't have any place in official FBI paperwork -- but Reid wonders if it'll be lurking at the back of his mind the next time there's a sexual sadist killing people somewhere. Will they worry about him taking his fetishes to a whole new level if he has a relapse? There's something calming about following that thought to its logical conclusion and it takes Reid the better part of the afternoon until he's satisfied that a) someone on the team would bring up the possibility and b) that said someone would probably be Derek. 

It makes opening the door to him at nine pm on the dot that much more nerve-wracking. 

"I called JJ," is Derek's opening volley. "She didn't understand why I was giving her an update on my personal life and I didn't know what to tell her, but she knows I'm here. I hope this isn't your way of strong-arming me into announcing we're breaking regulations."

Reid smiles thinly. "It's not."

"Yeah, didn't think so." Under his aviator jacket, Derek's dressed down to jeans and a black tee. He must have stopped home after work, showered, changed; he gave this some thought. His brow arches as he scrutinizes Reid. "I can take you in a fight, you know."

"Not if you're immobilized." He can feel the awkwardness, the unease that usually comes with sex seeping away in direct proportion to Derek's quickening breaths. 

"You'd have a hard time getting me that way," the other man challenges, but he doesn't sound sure. 

Reid squeezes his arm; it's rare for him to want to touch anyone, so Derek's surprise is warranted. "I don't think I would. Have a seat, we're just going to talk for a while... Do you want something to drink? I have beer, I think."

"What happened to no alcohol?" Derek asks, shedding his jacket on the back of a chair. 

"Since when do you consider beer to be alcohol?" 

He gets Derek a beer out of the fridge despite the verbal tennis, taking advantage of being on his feet to hang the other man's jacket in the foyer closet. The leather is supple and warm under his hands, well-worn from too many years of clubs and parties and traipsing through various motels around the country. Reid lets his fingers linger, tries not to think about all the germs that cling to the fabric.

The bottle exchanges hands, fingers brushing in the exchange. Derek doesn't make to take a sip. "I'm not going to apologize for what I said last night."

"I don't expect you to." That much Reid can say with absolute confidence; he's glad Derek had the guts to show himself as a willing party. The problem is that he was doing it to shame Reid into feeling bad about his secrets. This isn't going to work if they're trying to change each other. "After Tobias," Reid starts, "I had a hard time adjusting. The Dilaudid was part of the problem, as you know--"

"--and don't care," Derek insists. "You're not your addiction, kid."

There's that nickname again. Reid lets it stand, though, because Derek needs something familiar to cling to as they venture down the rabbit hole. "I appreciate that." He knows Derek wouldn't say it if he didn't feel that way. "You were all very supportive and I'm grateful... but what you don't know is that at same time I went through a promiscuous phase. I would pick up men and women in bars indiscriminately of age or orientation. We'd rarely make it home, but the few times we did, it was... intense. Not always good, but there were few boundaries I didn't explore." He can't help a wry smile. "I guess you could say I took carpe diem a little too seriously." 

Derek looks rightly concerned. "Did you..."

"I've been tested since and still get HIV tests done every three months. I was lucky, I didn't catch anything." If emerging from this phase with only a few scrapes and bruises can be considered lucky, then it's true. No one tried to shank him in his sleep. "The reason I'm telling you this," Reid adds, "is that I want you to understand I discovered this part of myself in the worst possible way. I spent a lot of time feeling ashamed of what I was doing, but when I was with the right partner -- even if it was someone I'd just met -- there would be a sense of... I guess peace would be the best word for it."

"You enjoyed hurting your partners." Trust Derek to spell it out, completely deadpan. 

Reid nods. "For a while, I was worried I'd forget all about consent and end up like one of our unsubs."

"You'd never--"

"But I _could_ ," Reid contends, mulish. "Listen to me, Derek." A hand comes up to scratch at the wispy blond hair behind his ear. "I'm very, very good at what I do. I asked you to call JJ tonight because I didn't want you to feel at risk." With this kind of wooing, he'll be lucky if Derek doesn't report him preemptively. 

Throat working as he swallows past a swig of beer, Derek nods. "Yeah, I figured."

"You did?"

Somehow, Derek has it in him to grin. "Don't sound so surprised. I was acing my SATs when you were still playing with LEGOs." That's not even remotely true, but Reid will let it slide because Derek is relaxing instead of fleeing and it's a nice development. Unexpected, but nice.

"You've never done anything like this before," Reid points out, because it's a salient factor. 

Denial is Derek's first recourse: "How do you know?" They've spent too much time at the BAU for sheer bluster to do the trick. He recants: "Alright, I haven't. So what? Doesn't mean I'm not interested."

"With your background..."

"Screw my background. Reid, are you saying you don't want to do that stuff with me?" It's worth noting that Derek doesn't know what that stuff is yet, but the other man waves the objection aside with a careless hand. "Just answer the damn question."

"I've wanted to tie you up since you first kissed me in the car," Reid admits bluntly. He can recall the exact moment when the thought flashed through his mind. It was dark outside, mid-winter winds whipping flurries of freshly-fallen snow against the chassis. Derek had offered to swing by and give him a ride to work. Reid started talking about their last case, consciously running his mouth to fill the silence at every stop light. And just like that, it happened. Derek's lips had been chapped and warm against his, their noses bumped together awkwardly. It shut Reid up relatively fast. 

The blaring horn of the car behind them put an end to proceedings, but the kiss happened; it marked the beginning of this non-relationship thing they have. 

Derek smiles. "Good start."

"Yes." Not just the kissing, but the first time Reid went down on Derek two days later, the way his breaths caught and his fingers fisted in his hair. The soft, ragged moans he offered up every time Reid would come over to his hotel room and work a hand between his thighs. They fucked in Derek's apartment for the first time six weeks ago today. Reid can remember every detail down to the weave of Derek's living room carpet; he got a clear view when he was down there on his belly, being worked open with a gentle hand. 

He clears his throat. "I mean yes, I want to do… stuff. With you." His cheeks flare at the confession, but not as badly as they did when he told Derek to pull out, that he couldn't take all of him as intended. 

Incredibly, Derek didn't seem to mind. He's just as relaxed now, having this bizarre conversation about proclivities that need never have come up if Reid only knew how to keep his mouth shut. "Are we talking bondage… or is there more?"

There's a lot more. Reid covers his face with his hands. 

Derek shifts closer, somehow ending up crouching at Reid's feet. "What's the worst thing you want to do to me?"

"Worst?" Reid could die. "Fuck you until you cry and then keep going? Choke you? I've bought floggers with you in mind—I can't believe I'm telling you this, you know, you should probably go now, it's not going to get much better—"

"Okay."

"Okay what?" Reid must have missed a step because Derek's hands are stroking his knobby, denim-covered knees and he's smiling one of those patient, Derek Morgan-patented smiles that kind of make Reid's insides feel all soft and squishy. He's very much not leaving.

"I'm game to try all of the above." 

_Definitely missed a step,_ Reid thinks. The only thing he manages to say, though, is "oh" and "I see" which drops the ball on the whole 'capable dom' thing pretty soundly. 

That's how they end up in the bedroom, with Derek taking off his clothes in a weird little replay of yesterday's events and Reid staring at him from the doorway before he gathers his courage up and ventures to lend a hand. Derek looks like he'd been expecting that. He smiles and dips his head. The kissing thing they've got down to a science, but there's no harm in indulging now and again. Reid folds a hand around Derek's nape, stroking him there until he can feel Derek begin to slow down. He's gorgeous when he's in charge, calling the shots as he bends Reid's legs back and licks up and into him or when his fist closes around Reid's cock with sure strokes, but if they're going to try to do the things Reid's been dreaming of, he'll need to learn to take direction instead. 

"Lie down," Reid tells him, his throat tight with want and anxiety, with the sudden realization that if this backfires, he'll still have to find a way to work with Derek come tomorrow morning. He crawls onto the sheets beside the other man, heart hammering in his chest. Adds "roll over," because Derek's lying there naked, his cock hardening in black briefs, and it won't do. Reid's never been more tempted to do away with caution and just give them both a quick release.

It's not what Derek asked him for, though, so the craven impulse is set aside as he slides a pillow under Derek's hips. A moan vibrates in the other man's throat as he settles in this new position. It must feel vulnerable. They've never made love like this before; it always seemed like asking Derek to be on the receiving end might bring back bad memories. Reid searches his face now, looking for any sign of discomfort. "I'm going to ask you to keep your hands on the headboard..."

"You've got handcuffs lying around?" Derek asks, smiling a little crookedly. 

"Yes."

Derek nods. "So use them." It's an order, but Reid chooses to look at it as an invitation. They'll have time to iron out their dynamic in time -- if there's the slightest chance tonight doesn't herald the end of their non-relationship. (He tries not to pin hopes on Derek on way or the other.) 

"Not today," he tells him. "Are you going to do as you're told?"

There's just a moment when it looks like Derek might laugh, but in the end he expels his breath in one long, heaving sigh, fingers threading through the slats in the headboard. It's better if he has a way out; they'll do restraints when Derek is more comfortable, when he knows the extent of Reid's depravity. So far so good. 

Reid pets his shaved head, the wing of a shoulder. "Spread your legs a little?" He can't help make it a question, because Derek has to understand there's room for refusal, but his heart skips a beat when the other man obeys so readily. "Good." His hands never cease their petting, stroking down the knobby rise of every vertebra in Derek's spine to cup his ass. Muscles twitch and tense beneath his palm. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly." Derek complies. "Again."

On the third iteration, Reid's palm smacks Derek's ass with a resounding, stinging slap. Derek's whole body jerks, fingers going white knuckled around the wood bars in the headboard. It's the shock of the first blow, nothing more. Reid rubs away the hurt, giving Derek a little time to recover. "Deep breaths, now..." 

"Wait." Derek cranes his neck to see him. "What about safewords?" He's not so green that he doesn't know protocol. 

"No need. When you tell me to stop, I will." Reid's lips curve into a half smile. "This time, anyway." To say he hasn't imagined trussing Derek up and shoving a ball-gag into his mouth would be a lie. "I'm not going to ask you for more than you can handle," he tells Derek, sinking to one elbow so they're at eye-level. "Anything feels weird or uncomfortable, you should feel free to say so. I only get something out of it if you are, too."

It surprises him to discover that's more than a line. He's never had a lover he wanted to please more. 

Derek nods, settling back down. "Okay. You can hit harder."

"Yeah?" Reid lets fingers worry the skin of his left ass cheek, drawing the blood to the surface. "Like this?" The next slap is harsh and hard enough to bruise. He's rewarded with a shallow noise of pleasure-pain from Derek, whose toes dig into the sheets as he rides out the sting. "That's it..." Reid hits him again, layering his swats from cheek to cheek and trying not to hit the same spot twice. The cotton underwear makes it hard to take aim, but it's a welcome intermediary, too, because it dims the force of the impact. Derek is already gasping and squirming after ten smacks, back arching prettily as he ruts against the pillow trapped between his thighs.

Reid kisses his temple. "Scale of one to ten, how bad was it?"

"Not bad," Derek says, completely missing the point of the exercise. His cheeks are warm, but unbruised and he lifts his hips obligingly as Reid tugs off his underwear. A wet spot mars the pillow beneath him. 

"You're hard." Reid can't banish surprise from his voice.

It earns him a shaky laugh. "You think?" Derek's brows arch, a trail of ripples across his forehead and crinkling crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. "Keep going, pretty boy. What've you got for me next?"

His hands haven't strayed from the headboard and it's for that reason as much as Reid's unshakeable desire to see Derek undone that he leaves the bed. 

"Reid?" A twinge of puzzlement trickles into Derek's voice, assuaged easily enough once Reid settles a soothing hand over his calf. Derek only starts a little when he feels leather cuffs being secured around his ankles, almost as if he expected something worse. There's method to Reid's madness, though, because the odds of anyone seeing chafing on Derek's legs are low. He has to think about these things now; Derek's not just a guy he picked up in a bar with every conviction that he'll never see him again. 

There will be consequences, whichever way this goes. Reid is slowly beginning to see that as a good thing. 

"Look at me, Derek. Do you know what this is?" He holds up a dainty length of steel with a rotating wheel at the top, almost like a riding spur. Derek nods. "Okay. It's more painful than it looks. Tell me if it's too much and I'll ease up."

He starts with Derek's hand, the rough, calloused skin of his knuckles perfect ground on which to test the pinwheel. The silver points dance across the skin, sharp like pinpricks that never quite make a dent. Derek's reaction is immediate: a catch of breath, his eyes squeezing shut. Reid has just about made it to the inside of his elbow and he's already shaking. 

"Doing okay?" 

Derek's face rubs against the sheets, but he's not shaking his head no, so Reid keeps going, running the pinwheel in one continuous line of his shoulders to the back of his neck, then up the other arm. He doesn't realize he's been holding his own breath until he sees Derek flexing his fists against the headboard. "Don't stop," he mumbles and Reid has to swallow past the lump in his throat that almost bids him ask _really?_ Surprise is one thing, but disbelief doesn't seem like it would be very reassuring. 

The next run of the pinwheel tracks down the center of Derek's back, from the back of his head to his tailbone in a slow, meandering journey. Sweat glistens on Derek's shoulders, evidence of his anticipation. Reid keeps going. 

A groan tears free of Derek's throat, half plea and half curse. Reid draws the pinwheel away from his skin abruptly, before he can beg. When next he lays it down, it's on the back of his thigh, a sharp, sudden streak of pain Derek can't possibly be anticipating. His left flank, then, crawling up towards his arm pit and his triceps. Derek fidgets against the bed sheets, his limbs jerking involuntarily as he tries to evade the contact. It's torture in name only, though, because for all the ragged breaths and jumpy moans, Reid isn't hurting him much at all. There will be no marks and the sense of frustration he's cultivating isn't without purpose. 

"I could turn you over and put this on your cock," Reid muses idly, bending his head to whisper the words in Derek's ear. He's never been one for sex-talk before, but there's a time and place for everything. "Would you like that?"

"Please..." Miraculously, Derek's sweaty hands still hold fast to the headboard. 

"Please what?"

He only means to clarify what Derek's asking him, if it's more pain or less, if he wants Reid's help to turn over onto his front, but Derek misunderstands. "Please, _sir_ ," he begs, mumbling into the curve of his bent arm. 

Reid feels ashamed and aroused all at once. "Look at me, Derek." It's softly worded, but it's still a command and Derek obeys it at once, his neck stretching as he cants back his head. His eyes are half-lidded and a little dazed, a trail of spit on his chin that Reid wipes away with his thumb. "How are you feeling? Is it still good?"

"Yeah." 

"You want more?"

"I want you," Derek answers and it's soft, too soft almost, and Reid would be afraid, except he's read extensively about subspace and recognizes the signs. He never thought Derek would be one for going so far down, so quickly; he seems to have forgotten his hands aren't actually bound to the headboard. This would be a bad time to remind him. 

Reid goes back to petting him gently, taking pain out of the equation for a bit. "I'd like to fuck you... is that okay?" Derek's nod comes slowly, but he's lucid enough to spread his legs -- or try to, which isn't so easy with his ankles tied to a spreader bar -- when Reid drops a hand to finger his hole. Sweat has made him slick but nowhere near slick enough for a cock. Reid rummages in the nightstand for his lubricant, uncaps it with a shaking hand. "You're so handsome like this, Derek. I mean you're always handsome, but now you're just... breath-taking." 

He gets a soft whimper by way of answer as the first finger slides deeply into Derek's body. It's a first. They've never done it this way and Reid has only a vague idea that the last time Derek did something like this it wasn't exactly pleasurable -- or consensual. He'd worry about taking advantage, except Derek is rocking back against his hand and breathing hard, so it's safe to assume he's enjoying himself. Reid adds another finger, more gentle than he thought he'd be at this point, more nervous about hurting Derek than he remembers being with any other lover. 

Not being high probably has something to do with it. 

Derek's breaths pick up, a nervous, stutter-sharp echo muffled by the bedding and his own attempts to keep quiet. Without thought, Reid tries to mimic whatever it was he just did, tries to get Derek to make that sound again. 

He doesn't have to wait long; a few quick jabs of his fingertips and Derek's shuddering violently, his insides clamping tight on Reid's fingers as he comes against the pillow and his belly, whole body going taut with the strain.

It's without question the hottest thing that Reid has seen in a long time. 

"Easy," he murmurs, "easy, just ride it out..." That's what Michael or Micah told him the first time he had a prostate orgasm behind the bleachers. It felt so much more intense than the kind he'd have every morning in the shower that Reid partly thought he might be having a heart attack. He knows better now, but he's not so certain about Derek. His body is still constricting metrically against Reid's fingers, telegraphing every tremor, every moan. It's many seconds before Reid can free his hand. He doesn't know if he should withdraw completely, so he lingers, stroking Derek from the without as the other man slowly comes down from his climax. 

Derek cants his head onto a bent arm. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That was incredible." Without permission, sure, and maybe not exactly what Reid had in mind, but still a privilege. Derek's never been unresponsive in bed and it's reassuring to think that won't change just because they're playing a little rougher than before. "Stay right there," Reid tells him and shifts to undo his own fly with a shaking, lubed-up hand. The operation proves tricky and he flushes a little under Derek's one-eyed scrutiny, but eventually the zipper gives way and he draws out his cock with quaking fingers. 

"You want to come on me?" Derek asks, sounding unsure. 

As sexy as that sounds, Reid shakes his head. "I can't aim for shit." He only swears because he's starting to lose grip on higher brain function. A couple of strokes more are all it takes. Pleasure that has been waiting, coiled like a beast in his belly, erupts with sudden force. Reid spills all over his fist and belly, white ropes streaking his rucked-up shirt. 

Derek's still watching when he comes down. "Hey."

"Hey." Impossible not to shoot him a smile in those minutes before anxiety catches up. Tempting as it might be to rest there, unmoving, and let sleep take him, Reid's all too aware that Derek's lying in the wet spot, with his ankles bound and sheet wrinkles embedded on his cheek. "You can let go now," he says, wiping his hands hastily on the sheets -- he'll worry about germs later -- and tugging gently on Derek's wrists. 

It takes a moment before Derek's fingers unclench; he's been holding on so hard that his palms are pocked with half-moon indentations wherever nails dug into the skin. Reid can't help kiss the small welts. "I'm going to get your feet now, okay?" The spreader bar and the ankle cuffs it's attached to can't be very comfortable now that the heat of the moment is past. 

"Leave it." Derek's voice sounds hoarse, exhausted. "I like... I like it." Shame and defiance war on his face. 

Reid nods. "Sure." He smothers the small, treacherous part of his brain that wants to read potential follow-up in Derek's request. That's not for right now. "Raise your hips for me?" It seems to take Derek a lot of effort, but he complies and Reid slides out the sodden pillow from under his belly. "There. Now you're good."

"Better than." Derek's eyes find his. "That was intense. You okay?"

His lips tug up into a smile. "I think that's my line. I almost ejaculated in my pants," Reid points out. "I haven't done that since I was a teenager. Never mind me..."

Derek snorts. "I always do. Deal with it." His skin blooms with goose bumps as Reid runs a hand over his spine. 

"Cold?"

"A little." That's normal and Reid thinks nothing of it as he rolls us the covers around Derek's back and his still-bound feet. "Thanks," Derek mumbles, eyes drooping shut. "We can debrief... but do you mind if I just close my eyes for a second?"

Reid's turn to smirk. "Go ahead." He'll take it as a sign that he did his part right if Derek's not suddenly overtaken with the urge to rush from his bed. 

"Hey, pretty boy?" Derek sighs. 

"Hmm?"

There's a smile teasing at Derek's lips, eyes shut and expression relaxed on the threshold of sleep. "We never made it to the floggers." 

Reid burrows against his side. "Next time." The thought is incredibly appealing.


End file.
